


A Gentleman Such As Yourself

by TheIntelligentHufflepuff



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Angst, Artist Steve Rogers, Attempt at Humor, Drama, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, basically Jane Austen + flintlock pistols + gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-07-29 18:04:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7694173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIntelligentHufflepuff/pseuds/TheIntelligentHufflepuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When attending a ball at Brooklyn House, Captain Steven Rogers did not expect to meet a handsome stranger. Nor did he expect to fall in love with said stranger and become incorporated in to a group of Lords, Ladies and one certain Russian Countess. </p>
<p>A love story told in balls, teas, dinners, and painting (with a little peril thrown in).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brooklyn House

**Author's Note:**

> I've nearly finished writing this completely, and it's only about 11K so I don't really *have* to split it in to chapters, but I thought I may as well for the drama of it all. I've tried to remain historically accurate, but beware of anachronisms because I didn't want to fact-check myself out of a plot. Enjoy!

Steven alighted from the carriage nimbly, feet hitting the gravelled driveway with a soft crunch. Surveying the imposing, immaculately kept prospect of Brooklyn House, the rolling grandeur of the associated estate and the steady flow of finely dressed people sauntering in to the tastefully lit entrance hall, Steven couldn’t help but feel a little cowed. As a man of moderate status, he was accustomed to the occasional soirée, but without the need to chaperone any female relatives and reluctant to seek female companionship himself, Steven had rarely had occasion to attend any balls or dances. Still, his mother’s dying wish had been for him to take the remains of his father’s inheritance and settle down, so when the invitation from Lord Barnes Senior had arrived by post, Steven took it as a sign. 

The steady rumble of the carriage’s wheels as the driver pulled away signalled that it was time for Steven to enter the house, or risk injury from the arrival of another party. As Steven ascended the left set of dual steps to the front door, he couldn’t help but admire the soft, sweet scent of the roses growing along the wall. Perhaps they had been planted at the behest of Lady Barnes Senior, or the Lady’s daughter. At the door, a footman took Steven’s name and his overcoat, then- with a bow- gestured towards the ballroom. It wasn’t hard to miss. Not only had the corridor leading towards it become a veritable thoroughfare, but from it drifted the jolly strains of expertly performed music and the bubbling sound of jovial conversation. 

Upon entering the ballroom, Steven came immediately to appreciate the taste of the design- from the finely moulded ceiling hung glittering chandeliers, which threw soft light on panel after panel of friezes and illustrations that Steven itched to examine. At the far end of the ballroom a long table was stationed, laden with fine foods and a plentiful supply of wines. Resolving to fetch himself a glass of port before taking a turn around the room to admire the art, Steven started towards it. Soon, he found himself smiling as he dodged around muslin skirts and velvet coattails, gesticulating arms and coquettishly positioned elbows. At one point, Steven found himself forestalled by a fierce looking woman in her latter years, whom he thought he might have exchanged pleasantries with at one point. The lady wished to introduce her daughter to him, extolling the young woman’s virtues while tactfully avoiding mentioning anything personal about Steven himself. While the young woman seemed adequately personable, Steven really had no interest in her, and if the tightness around her lips was any indication she had no interest in him. The lady was, Steven suspected, trying to introduce her daughter to every eligible bachelor she saw while her daughter would much rather join the dancing. 

Eventually, Steven managed to extract himself from the conversation and continue his progress towards the table. Once there, he didn’t hesitate to pour himself a generous serving of the fine port, and even indulged in prettily presented desert. Tumbler secured in hand, Steven began to amble along the wall, a slight spring in his step from the infectious vitality of the strings. The art, he discovered, was indeed fine. Likely commissioned specifically for the Brooklyn House ballroom, the friezes charted the stages of a party amongst the Greek gods. Every individual painting was put together in exquisite detail, the characters consistent throughout and brought to life by neat brush-strokes and a sympathetic eye for colour that Steven envied. 

He was admiring the particularly lifelike folds of a gown depicted in the sixth frieze when someone cleared their throat behind him. Startled, Steven turned to see a man of about six and twenty, a year older than him, watching Steven with quietly amused blue eyes. Very comely blue eyes, Steven admitted in the safe confines of his own head, set in to a very comely pale face framed by artful chestnut locks. Steven couldn’t think why, but the man seemed oddly familiar to him, though he was sure they hadn’t been introduced before. 

“Good evening.” the man smiled, bobbing his head in imitation of a bow “I don’t believe we’ve met, but I see that you are admiring my father’s paintings.” 

Steven put two and two together quickly, but thought it best to clarify in order to avoid any awkwardness “Sergeant James Barnes, am I correct?” 

Sergeant Barnes smiled beautifully, offering Steven his hand to shake “Retired. I found the life of a soldier was not the life for me.” 

Steven took the proffered hand, shaking it firmly as he introduced himself “Captain Steven Rogers, also retired. Taking up my father’s position was not to my tastes.” 

Sergeant Barnes hummed in acknowledgement. For a moment, his gaze drifted out over the hopping dancers and laughing conversationalists. Steven was ready to consider the conversation over, when Sergeant Barnes turned to Steven once more and asked “Have you found your evening satisfactory as of yet?” 

“Well,” Steven laughed, gesturing with his tumbler “I’ve been able to drink some of the finest port I have ever drunk and inspect the finest pieces of art I’ve set my eyes on for some while, so I would say yes.” 

Sergeant Barnes looked pleased by his response, eyes warming as he brought his own glass to his lips “Not one for dancing, I suppose?” he enquired, then added “I shouldn’t think that a gentleman such as yourself would be for want of a partner, if you should seek one.” 

Steven flushed under the compliment, internally cursing himself for such a childish response even while a warm feeling uncurled inside him “I am rather indifferent to dancing, I’m afraid, and I make an unsatisfactory partner. Painting is my preferred way to spend an evening; much less risk of injury that way. However, forgive my intrusion,” Steve continued, suddenly realising that a thin line of perspiration sat on Sergeant Barnes’ forhead “you seem to have been putting yourself under some exertion, Sergeant, so I will naturally conclude that you have been dancing with some vigour. Please don’t allow me to detain you any further, should you wish to continue doing so.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” Sergeant Barnes protested “Not with such interesting new company. In fact, come, sit.” he pulled out two chairs at one of the tables set all along the perimeter of the ballroom, seating himself in one and nodding to the other with a wide smile. 

Steven, by this point thoroughly charmed, indulged Sergeant Barnes, settling down on the plush seat with an absent smile. Barnes beamed at him, angling his body so that he faced Steven directly. 

“Pray tell me, Captain Rogers, what exactly is your occupation? How came you know my father?” 

“I earn my keep in part by selling my paintings and in part by letting some modest farmland in my ownership. Of course, I allow the farmers to use the old equipment but we have an agreement that in return for a low rent they maintain the tools.” Steven stopped himself, realising that he had begun to talk of business matters that were irrelevant to the conversation at hand, but Barnes was listening intently anyhow “I met your father at a meeting another of the local landowners had arranged, and he was interested in my paintings for the newest wing. Of course, I told him that he would be better off advertising for a professional, but he was persistent. Eventually I showed him a few pieces and I was hired.” 

Barnes seemed delighted by this news, enthusiastically decrying that he and Steven would soon become fast friends and that there was no-one in the whole of England better suited to the job. The warmth of Barnes’ words and the very existence of his belief in Steven set Steven’s heart flying. Unfortunately, for a man who had been in Steven’s company for little more than a half hour, it was rather suspiciously unfounded. 

“Sergeant, are you quite sober?” 

“Of course!” Barnes responded immediately “Why, I’m as sober as a judge.” 

“And we all know father,” a new voice added “So we all know that judges really can hold their port.” 

The woman who’d spoken was finely dressed, her chestnut hair and blue eyes almost interchangeable with Barnes’ save for her round, feminine features. 

Barnes bestowed the woman with a contemptuous look that would have been intimidating had it not been for its insincerity. He turned back to Steven and begrudgingly introduced her “My sister, Miss Rebecca Barnes. Becca, Captain Steven Rogers.”

Steven rose, bowing politely to Miss Rebecca “Madam.” 

Smiling, she curtseyed elegantly in return “Sir.” turning to her brother, Miss Rebecca added “Bucky, I’ve found some new friends I’d like to introduce you to, come along and say hello!” 

Steven raised an eyebrow at Barnes “Bucky?” 

Barnes ran a hand through his well coiffed hair, explaining bashfully “A childhood name that my dearest sister refuses to let go off.”  
“Considering my dearest brother will insist on calling me Becca, I should think it quite excusable.” Miss Rebecca responded primly. 

Considering the stiff manner in which their father conducted himself and the landed history of the family, Steven had been thoroughly dreading any possible encounter with a Barnes. However, Steven decided then that he was rather fond of the siblings, due almost entirely to their easy joviality and horrifyingly familiar manner. 

“Come!” Miss Rebecca exclaimed, holding out a hand for Barnes to take “I will take you to my new friends. You too, Captain Rogers. Hurry along.” 

As he was dragged away, Barnes glanced anxiously behind him. Steven shook his head in indication that his sensibilities were not at all offended by Miss Rebecca’s upfront instruction, and hastened to catch up. In a flurry of ‘good evenings’ and ‘excuse me’s, Steven found himself standing on the other side of the ballroom being introduced to two fine young ladies. The first, a woman clothed in deep blue and gold with coils of vibrant fiery hair, was Countess Natalia Aliona Romanova, a Russian noble who was residing in London for the duration of the summer. The second, a strikingly beautiful brunette whose clothing and body held a simple elegance, was the widowed Lady Margaret Carter of St Martin’s Place. It was on her that Steven’s eyes lingered. 

“Pleased to meet you.” Lady Carter smiled, taking Steven’s hand in hers “I often find these events a bore, but here I have found entertaining company.” 

“Glad to oblige.” Barnes said. All of a sudden his merriness had dropped away to leave Barnes tense and uncomfortable. Lady Carter barely glanced at Barnes in acknowledgement before her gaze returned to Steven. Barnes, for his part, appeared to be restraining himself from glaring intently at Lady Carter. Steven wondered if their animosity was the product of an unfortunate love affair. 

Lady Carter spoke again, asking Steven to dance. In light of his initial refusal, she placed a hand demurely on his arm and persisted “Pray do, I have been refusing offers from the most ghastly of men all the night! Should they see me engaged with a fine man such as yourself they will come to the inevitable conclusion and everyone involved shall be spared from a multitude of disappointments.” 

Steven glanced at the grandfather clock visible through the throngs of people. According to the dial, it was very nearly eleven o’clock, so the night would soon be drawing to a close and Lady Carter was indeed a lovely woman. 

“Very well, as your logic is so infallible.” Steven ceded, offering Lady Carter his hand “I am afraid I only know the simplest of the dances, so I may show you up.” 

“No matter, Captain Rogers,” Lady Carter assured him warmly “you will soon learn to dance excellently.”   
***  
“Take cheer, brother dearest.” Becca said, patting Bucky’s back as he slumped “Captain Rogers will not abandon your friendship for romance so soon.” 

“I am aware.” he replied tiredly, watching as Rogers and Carter skipped down through the partners “But I was enjoying our conversation.” 

“Well,” Countess Romanova injected “I have danced enough for one night. Tell me, what do you experience as an English Lord?”


	2. Dinner and Tea and Dinner Again

Steven awoke late, sore and bleary from the dancing and drink. Fortunately, his breakfast was waiting on the table for him in the same way it always was, the post arranged neatly next to his plate. As he chewed on his first slice of buttered bread, he shifted through the envelopes: a note from an old acquaintance, business affairs, a request for payment from the bank... a letter from St Martin’s Place and a letter from Brooklyn House. Steven hastily consumed the rest of his breakfast, thanked Kate for her efforts, and retired to the parlour to read. 

Lady Carter’s letter expressed her gratefulness for Steven’s company at the Brooklyn House ball and the desire to open up communications between the two of them, considering neither had any family members to monitor the correspondence or communicate for them. Steven scrawled out a polite reply for the evening post to indicate that he would very much like to do so, as long as Lady Carter was fully comfortable with forgoing propriety. Next, Steven opened the letter from Brooklyn House. Surprisingly, it was penned by Barnes himself, reading: 

Captain Rogers,  
It would be my great pleasure to invite you to take tea with myself, my sister and Countess Romanova- who has accepted an invitation to stay for some time at Brooklyn House on account of her friendship with Miss Rebecca- at four o’clock Tuesday. I am aware that it is unusual for ladies and men to take tea together, but my father wishes for me to continue discussion with Countess Romanova concerning rule in Russia. The Countess and I have already exhausted this topic of conversation, so the two ladies will doubtless spend the duration of tea giggling and giving me looks. I thought it wise to invite you as I enjoyed our conversation last night and it would be sensible to come to know you better, considering your future employment under my father. Furthermore, the kitchen has several unfinished bottles of port that you so enjoyed, and if you came you could take one or two home with you to share with your own guests or household.  
Yours,  
James Barnes (Bucky) 

“He seems very enthusiastic about you coming to tea, considering the amount of reasons he wrote down. Sir.” 

Steven jumped, whirling around in his seat to face Kate. She was a young girl of sixteen, a few years younger than Miss Rebecca, who still had not quite grasped the nuances of being a servant “Kate, don’t read my private letters. You could be let go for that.” 

“But sir, you’re not going to let me go.” Kate replied obstinately. Steven felt a certain fatherly affection for her, which was an unusual thing to feel towards a housekeeper but just as well considering Kate was the only person employed in the house.

“No, but...never mind. Why are you here?” 

“My cousin’s in a play down in Blackfriars and I was wondering if I could take a day off to go, seeing as my other cousin can’t on account of being ill. I would’ve asked last night but you were dead on your feet, sir, it didn’t seem like the right time.” 

“Yes, of course.” Steven nodded “But be careful.” 

“Thank you, sir. I’ll change and then I’ll be off. Is there anything you need before I go?” 

“No, thank you Kate. Enjoy yourself.” 

Kate bobbed and left the room. 

Without the sound of clanking pans or Kate’s humming as she worked, the house was very quiet. Steven took his paints outside in to the garden, noisy enough with the happy chirping of birds and the swooshing of plants blown by the wind to lull him in to a kind of stupor. As the sun climbed higher in the sky, a wistful rendering of the tall flowers lining the garden path took shape. Steven was carefully adding the finishing touches when the creak of the garden gate made him look up. Standing at the end of the garden path, parasol in hand, was Lady Carter. 

Steven hurried to wipe down his paint stained hands and make his way over.  
“Lady Carter,” he called out in greeting “What a pleasant surprise!” 

“I’m afraid I couldn’t stay away.” she laughed, smiling prettily “I was just journeying to town for an early dinner and was wondering if you cared to join me? Dining alone is always quite tiresome and I recalled that you were a bachelor.” 

“Of course!” Steven readily agreed “If your driver wouldn’t mind waiting for a few moments, I will put away my paints and change in to more appropriate clothes. As it would happen, my Kate is having a day off today, so you couldn’t have presented your offer at a more convenient time.” 

Steven invited Lady Carter to wait in the parlour while he prepared. Soon, he was giving Lady Carter a hand in to her carriage and following after. The ride to town was of moderate length, but the carriage was comfortably modern and the company extremely amicable. Lady Carter, it transpired, was a formidable woman of quick wit and fatal charm of which Steven had glimpsed the previous night. She had lost her husband to illness and was under pressure to find another. Unfortunately, Lady Carter was still mourning her Daniel and would likely be for the foreseeable future. In conjunction with her determination to marry a man that she could get on with, the pool of eligible candidates was rather shallow. 

Upon arriving in town and seating themselves for dinner, Steven and Lady Carter were regarded rather suspiciously for their lack of an escort. Steven hadn’t considered this issue when he accepted Lady Carter’s invitation and was on the cusp of suggesting that they leave when a solution came in the form of an acquaintance of Steven’s, one Mr Pierce. Mr Pierce was not a man with whom Steven would willingly associate, but their brief obligatory conversation was enough to satisfy the townspeople’s curious and accusatory stares. 

“I have heard of Mr Pierce.” Lady Carter told Steven, once Mr Pierce had left “He is not a man you should take pains to associate with, as he is known for betraying his companion’s trust in the most distasteful of ways.”

“My thanks, although I had no intention of furthering my companionship with Mr Pierce.” 

Lady Carter nodded seriously “Then you are a sensible man, Captain Rogers. Will you tell me a little about your service in the army? I have long been intrigued by such matters.” 

Thus the evening’s conversation began, and thus it carried on, though occasionally the topic changed to the mundane or extraordinary. Steven felt, by the time he was disembarking Lady Carter’s carriage at nightfall, that he had made a very firm friend in an extraordinary woman. On the other hand, their evening together seemed to have successfully quelled Steven’s budding attraction to Lady Carter instead of extrapolating it, as Steven thought the evening might. Even stranger still, Steven found himself looking forwards to Tuesday intently. 

***  
Painstakingly slowly, the weekend crawled by until eventually it welcomed in a new week. Monday was spent fitfully adjusting paintings and urging the clock to move faster, much to Kate’s bemused amusement, while Tuesday was simply torture alleviated only by a note asking for confirmation that Steven would be coming. He replied as quickly as possible. When three o’clock arrived, Steven could contain his waiting no longer. With a hasty farewell to Kate, he grabbed his cane- better to be cautious than dead, his mother always said- and set off over the fields towards Brooklyn House. 

The steady pace of walking did wonders for Steven’s nerves and invigorated limbs that often spent the day stationary as he painted. Excluding one minor diversion, his estimated directions were correct and by the time Brooklyn House came in to view, Steven’s pocket-watch read ten minutes to four exactly. Steven admired the house in daylight as he meandered up the drive. It had clearly been designed as a symbol of status, the yellowish bricks accented by smooth sandstone at the corners, and carvings on every one of the numerous window ledges. The heavy door knocker was in the shape of the Barnes family crest. The brass sparkled in the afternoon light as Steven brought it down on the door two times. 

After a moment, Steven heard footsteps in the entrance hall, preceding the door swinging open. Contrary to convention, it was not a servant who admitted Steven in to the house but Barnes himself. Steven stepped past him in to the opulent entrance hall with a smile. 

“Do they make you clean the chandeliers too, Barnes?” Steven asked lightly, admiring the way that the royal blue of Barnes’ jacket complimented his skin. 

Barnes laughed musically, clapping a hand on Steven’s shoulder to guide him through the house “Heavens, no, I’d break them the moment I touched them. And please, call me James, or Bucky if you want to. Barnes sounds too formal.” 

Steven suspected his cheeks had turned a little pink, if the glimmer in James’ eye was anything to go by “I think I will call you James, if I may, I wouldn’t want your sister to feel usurped by my calling you Bucky.” 

James made a gesture as if to say ‘that’s by the by’. He seemed to be leading Steven towards the back of the house. 

“And what should I call you? If you’re referring to me as James I can’t very well refer to you as Captain Rogers.” 

“You can call me Steven.” 

“Steven.” James repeated with relish. Steven tried to ignore the way his name sounded like something different, something more on James’ tongue. 

“Pray tell me,” Steven asked in an attempt to distract from his apparent fancy for his companion “Aside from being a minor noble, how do you occupy your day?” 

“I’ll have you know I’m an inventor.” 

“An inventor?” Steven repeated incredulously. It was rather unusual for a man of Barnes’ status to pass his time tinkering with cogs and pulleys. 

“One of the best, I’ve been reliably informed.” 

“Was Lady Barnes the informer?” Steven responded dryly. His sense of humour often did get the best of him. 

Fortunately, Barnes seemed to find his jest amusing “You’ve discovered my secret. I also garden.” 

“Oh? My mother was a keen gardener.” 

“I’ll give you a tour, once tea is over.” James promised as he guided Steven out of a back door and down a path splitting the lawn in two. Noting Steven’s poorly concealed confusion, James explained “We’ll be taking tea in the summer house.”

“Ah.” 

“There you are, Bucky.” Miss Rebecca called as the two of them neared the quaint summer house “Did you take our guest through the house the long way?” 

James rubbed the back of his neck guiltily. Miss Rebecca looked delighted. 

Steven diverted his attention to the redhead “Good afternoon, Countess.” 

“Good afternoon. I hope the days since our last meeting have been pleasant for you.” 

“They have, thank you. For you?” 

“Very much so.” 

“Bucky, Captain Rogers, sit down.” Miss Rebecca commanded. 

The two men did as they were told, James leaning close to Steven’s ear to whisper “There is nothing my sister loves to do more than eating.” 

“Hush you!” 

“You don’t know what I said!” James protested, although he did look mildly chastised. Steven noticed Countess Romanova was laughing in to a small sandwich. 

“Oh, Captain Rogers,” Miss Rebecca began as Steven was helping himself to a fluffy scone “did you find your dinner with Lady Carter enjoyable?” 

“Uh...” 

Miss Rebecca giggled “I saw you there, you looked very happy together.” 

Steven flushed, painfully aware of James’ eyes upon him “Oh, well, uh. We both enjoyed ourselves and we’ve become firm friends.” 

“Only friends? I am aware of the English insistence to be coy.” Countess Romanova pressed. Steven felt distinctly that he had walked in to a trap he would not escape from. 

“Yes, I’m sure. It isn’t too long since Lady Carter’s husband died.” 

“But you have hopes for the future?” Miss Rebecca questioned, like a dog with a bone.  
Steven looked to James in dismay; he simply responded with a gesture that suggested Steven’s fate lay only with himself. 

“I have no especial hopes for romantic entanglements with Lady Carter in the future, although I do wish for a long and fulfilling companionship.” Steven clarified, the sentence taking on the tone of a question. 

The two ladies smiled as if they had achieved some great accomplishment, then returned to their tea. With one last disturbed look to James, Steven did so too. Once the rich fare had been consumed and the servants had taken away the refuse, the ladies declared their intentions to take a turn around the grounds. As they strode off arm in arm, James turned to Steven and said “I am sorry about the inquisition they subjected you to. It appears ladies from all continents live on gossip.” 

“I can’t find it within myself to blame them, considering they can’t live on a hard earned wage.” Steven replied, tucking his chair under the table “Though frankly I see no reason to prevent them from living on both.” 

James raised an eyebrow at Steven “How very forward thinking. Say we challenge society one more time?” 

Steven took a moment to comprehend James’ meaning, until he connected the man’s crocked elbow with his disarming smile. Steven flushed, but looped his arm through James’ “I know plenty of friends who walk arm in arm.” 

“But are these friends quite like you and I?” 

Steven nearly chocked, acutely aware of James’ body pressed tightly along the side of his “And what kind of friends, pray, are we?” 

“Sinful friends.” James replied lowly, words vibrating across the skin behind Steven’s ear as James leant close “If you wish.” 

Steven felt all his blood rush to his boots “I wish to sit down, I feel faint.” 

“Oh. Come along.” James responded, a concerned pinch in his face as he steered Steven down a narrow path and in to a small walled garden lined with bushes. The centre featured a simple stone fountain, faced by four benches of the same material. James sat Steven down on one and began to rub gentle circles on his back.

“Are you ill?” he asked Steven “Need I fetch a doctor?” 

“No, no.” Steven assured him, slowly regaining his senses “I have, unfortunately, been prone to sporadic fainting fits since childhood. I’m afraid the shock of your...proposal may have triggered one.” 

“Ah, I see.” James acknowledged the explanation, a note of concern still apparent in his voice even as he withdrew his hand from Steven’s person “In what way did my proposal shock you? Should I have declared my intentions?” 

“Gracious, no!” Steven cried, hastening to extrapolate upon seeing the hurt expression James was sporting “I should very much like to explore a romantic relationship with you, if I understood your meaning correctly, but I would like to see how it goes for a while before seeking to end courting for a more permanent position.” 

“Excellent! Though I apologise for my poor phrasing.” 

The pair sat for a while in silence, admiring the evening light as it reflected in the water falling from a cherub’s bow and taking in the scent of roses that surrounded them. The setting was extremely romantic, and Steven wondered if James had the mood in mind when he designed the area. Another thought soon followed- did James’ family and friends know that he was not necessarily considering the meeting of man and woman? 

“James,” Steven began, pausing when it became unclear to him how he should phrase his next words. 

“Yes?” James prompted as he slid his hand over Steven’s, resting lightly for the moment but in the position to hold tightly if needs be. 

“Does your...does your family know that you...” 

“Have taken a fancy to a man?” James finished. Steven nodded. Sighing, James turned over Steven’s hand, placed it on his knee and began to trace patterns on his palm “My parents do not and hopefully never will. Becca does, simply on account of her being far too quick witted for her own good. I believe that in addition to Becca knowing, Countess Romanova suspects. But” James emphasised “I believe she may be in the reverse position, as she has neither said a negative word about us or a positive word about any of her past lovers.”

“Oh. Well then.” 

James smiled, then bent to place a chaste kiss on Steven’s palm before releasing his hand “’Well then’ indeed. Care to stay for dinner? Or is your carriage waiting?” 

“I would be delighted to, especially as I have no carriage. I walked.” 

“How enterprising of you. Shall we continue our perusal of the grounds, then perhaps a game of billiards before we change for dinner? You needn’t bother, of course, though if you wish you may borrow a jacket.” 

“That may be as well, I wouldn’t care to make an impression on your family for the wrong reasons.” Steven joked, gratified to see a fond smile dawn on James’ face. 

“That you wouldn’t. If you walk this way, I’ll show you the Italian garden.” 

***  
Dinner was at once an extremely favourable experience and the very worst of tortures. On the one hand, the Barnes’ kitchen staff proved themselves capable of producing the poultry equivalent of manner from heaven, and Steven found Lady Barnes to be as enjoyable company as her children. On the other hand, Lord Barnes seemed rather displeased at having to eat dinner with his employee and Steven found it insufferably hard to maintain entirely platonic conversation with James while sat directly opposite the man at a candlelit table, wrapped up in a jacket that smelt just like him. 

Furthermore, in the first break between courses, none other than Mr Pierce himself arrived. The moment he entered the room, Mr Pierce’s eyes narrowed as he saw Steven. Subsequently, the man deliberately selected the chair to Steven's right, much to the younger man's discomfort. All throughout the remainder of the evening, despite Miss Rebecca and Countess Romanova’s valiant attempts to distract him, Mr Pierce persisted in watching Steven and James like a hawk, smile becoming increasingly villainous as the meal progressed. By the time gooseberry tart was being served for afters, Steven’s palms were clammy and his pulse was jumping at his throat. 

“Are you alright, Steven?” James asked “You aren’t about to take ill again are you?” 

“No, I shouldn’t think so. I believe I’ve just devoured this lovely meal so quickly my body is in shock.” 

***

“James.” said his father sternly when they had retired to the drawing room “What were you doing, calling Captain Rogers ‘Steven’? As if he were your brother! You’ve only known him for a day, do you really wish to give this family a reputation for being too familiar with the locals?” 

“Father,” James exhaled, too irritated by far to deal with his father’s enthusiasm for what’s proper “We are among the locals. And Steven is a friend, I wish for him to feel comfortable in my company and one cannot get comfortable if one insists on using monikers.” 

“Nonsense! Mr Pierce and I are very close, but you wouldn’t hear me calling him Alexander.” 

James pinched the bridge of his nose, reclining further in to his armchair “You and I both know that the only part of Mr Pierce you are friends with is his political influence.” 

“Hold your tongue!” Lord Barnes snapped “I will not accept such attitude in my son. How do you expect to find yourself a wife if none of my friends respect you enough to let their daughters near you?” 

James’ stomach curdled. There was no way on Earth that he could respond to his father’s words in the manner he most wanted- that James could say he would rather remain without love for all of eternity than consummate marriage with a woman. That in reality the only human angel he fantasised about marrying was Steven. Without another word, he left the room.


	3. Hold Up!

Steven’s work on the new wing of Brooklyn House commenced the subsequent week. The first few days were occupied in drawing out the pencil lines for the image, a massive ceiling painting of a forest scene complete with frolicking nymphs. The gallery corridor Steven worked in was infrequently used, illuminated thoroughly by a line of full windows- extremely adequate conditions. What made the situation perfect was the fact that there was a long padded bench seat running the length of the gallery on which James liked to seat himself, attention divided between fiddling with some form of contraption and watching Steven as he worked. Normally Steven was very satisfied to work in solitude, but James’ presence was much appreciated, no matter how it made his heart flutter. 

On the third day, just as Steven was finishing the last outline, his ladder began to wobble. Before he knew it, Steven was yelping as the ladder overturned, sending him plummeting...straight in to James’ arms. 

“Are you hurt?” James asked anxiously, all but cradling Steven. 

Face burning, Steven artfully disentangled himself “Quite alright, thank you. That would have been a nasty fall.” 

“Are you much shaken? Would you like me to fetch some tea?” James fussed, running his hands pleasantly down Steven’s arms. 

“Really, James, I’m quite unaffected. Though I appreciate your reflexes.” 

“I should think so!” James laughed “Perhaps from now on I should sit on the ladder to weigh it down.” 

“If you like,” Steven smiled “Though I can’t promise that I won’t kick you.” 

“A small price to pay.” 

“As you wish.” Steven teased, ascending the ladder once more “Although you do realise that you have unwittingly accepted the job of handing me my paints when I need them?” 

“Why of course! I am honoured to be put in such a prestigious position, aiding the age’s next great artist!” 

Steven’s insides warmed even as he parried “Your name will be written in the history books for years to come- James Barnes, paint supplier to Steven Rogers.” 

“Oh, and what will you be?” James asked, voice light.

“Why, Steven Rogers, user of paint, of course!” 

***  
And so the months toiled on. At each turning Steven’s painting progressed, James’ compliments grew more elaborate, and the two grew closer. Privately, Steven began to consider his days holed up with James the best of his life, even despite the increasingly paint-thick and musty air in the gallery. Not only was James the most handsome man Steven had ever lain eyes on, but he had the most infectious personality. Where Steven had always had a tendency towards a quick temper, James was rational to a fault. As surely as Steven sought the beauty in all things, James sought to discover their workings. Together, their jests and jibes were equally matched. Together, they could lend a voice to a call for justice that neither dared think of in the presence of any other. In short, together they found an understanding that Steven had not experienced with any other human being alive, save perhaps for Lady Carter in some respects. 

By the time September arrived, and brought with it the prospect of Michaelmas, the painting was nearly half finished. On a whim, Steven decided to host a small affair at his home in celebration of the season. Naturally, he invited his friends, and as they each trooped in with a warm greeting Steven was struck with the thought that the way he, a retired Captain of little background, was inviting Countesses and Ladies to dine with him was rather topsy turvy. 

Kate, unused to dealing with meals meant for more than a maximum of three people, had enlisted the help of her aunt for the occasion. Mrs Bishop had, very soon upon entering the house, declared it unfit to host a party in and begun to rearrange the furniture and hang up Steven’s paintings to the effect that Steven’s own dining room was barely recognisable. It was these paintings that Countess Romanova was observing with interest.

“You have a lot of talent. I had suspected, of course, but these examples are adequate confirmation.”

“Thank you.” 

“I wonder,” Countess Romanova hummed “Do you enjoy painting structures?” 

“Yes, I rather do. It offers a different challenge than painting on board or canvas does, but it is a challenge I appreciate.” 

“I am in negotiations to have one of your country houses built for me so that I can visit my friends here without imposing. How would you like to decorate it?” 

Steven looked to Countess Romanova in shock, waiting for her to start laughing. Her face remained soft but impassive. 

“All of it?” Steven stuttered- Countess Romanova nodded “I haven’t a clue what to say!” 

“Say ‘yes, thank you’, Steve.” Lady Carter interjected in fond exasperation. 

Steven held out a hand to Countess Romanova “Yes, thank you. It would be my great pleasure to decorate your future country home.” 

At that moment, Kate and Mrs Bishop arrived with the first course. The party seated themselves, ignoring propriety due to the uneven ratio of men and women. When Kate and Mrs Bishop had returned to the kitchen, James turned to Steven and said in an injured tone “Lady Carter calls you Steve, but I call you Steven.” 

“Lady Carter calls me Steve because Lady Carter thought to call me Steve. You, James, did not think to call me ‘Steve’.” 

Becca giggled, while the slightly older ladies simply looked amused. 

“Well, may I ? Call you Steve, I mean.” 

“You may call me Steve if I may call you Bucky.”

James’ eyes lit up adorably. He leaned forwards to look past Countess Romanova to his sister “Becca, can Steven call me Bucky?” 

“Yes, if Steven calls me Becca.” 

Steve snorted, then turned back to James “May I call Miss Rebecca by the name Becca?” 

“Of course, if you call me Bucky.” 

“In which case I shall call you Bucky, you shall call me Steve, and I shall call your sister Rebecca.” he turned to each of the others in turn “Would either of you like to add anything?” 

“Yes, I shall.” said Lady Carter “I should be much obliged if all those present call me Margaret so long as the Countess allows us to refer to her as anything other than Countess.” 

“Countess?” 

“Very well, you may refer to me as Natalia, if you refer to Lady Carter as Margaret.” 

“Well then,” Becca chirped “That’s settled.” 

***  
Steve completed the painting at seven o’clock in the evening on the twenty third of December. The moment he descended the ladder for the final time, Steven was engulfed by the immediate urge to climb all the way up it again, cover over everything he’d done with white paint and start again. Luckily, Bucky caught Steve in time and through some gentle persuasion managed to get him to come downstairs and, after a quick wash, have a celebratory dinner with the others. Dinner lead to drinks, which in turn lead to a night of tipsy parlour games, music and conversation. By the time Steve piled in to one of the Barnes’ carriages, slightly more sober than he was but still buoyed by the zing of good company and the satisfaction of a job well done, it was well past midnight. Unusually, Bucky then stepped in to the carriage after Steve. 

“I just don’t want to stop being with you.” he whispered in response to Steve’s questioning look. 

“I concur with your point of view.” Steve whispered back. The carriage moved off, lanterns swaying merrily. Steve slid across the plush seat until his body was flush with Bucky’s, allowing his familiar warmth to surround him in the comfortable space. 

“May we just sit, like this, for a while?” Bucky asked, soft voice loathe to disturb the calm of the moment. 

“We may.” 

Dimly, Steve observed the bright white stars shining from the black sheet of night above them, the moonlit silhouette of Brooklyn House interspersed by candlelit windows and the ghostly limbs of the forest they would soon enter. As the carriage moved through the trees, its lamps gave life to ghastly shadows and Steve withdrew further in to the cocoon around he and Bucky. 

“Would you mind, very much, if I kissed you?” he whispered. 

Bucky smiled, slow and soft. Before he could open his mouth to reply, the carriage suddenly lurched to a stop, flinging them to the floor. Seconds later, the doors were wrenched open and hands were on Steve, dragging him out as he fought to free himself. He slammed in to the frost hard earth with a painful jolt. Next thing he knew, Steve was being dragged up by his collar and held captive by a sweaty body, a flintlock pistol pressed hard to the side of his head. Heart flying, Steve took stock of his surroundings. The carriage was stuck in a ditch, the driver slumped worryingly over the reins. Bucky was stood by the carriage door, looking just as disorientated, restrained by two burly men. They were surrounded by at least six others, possibly more accounting for Steve’s blindness to what was behind him. 

Bucky’s gaze settled on Steve; he paled, eyes widening in fear. Then, like thunderclouds following a hailstorm, an expression of fury etched itself in to Bucky’s features. 

“Unhand him.” he demanded, glaring swords at the man with the pistol to Steve’s head. 

The man yielded no response. 

“What do you want?” Bucky spat, straining against his restrainers “Whatever it is, he has no part in it.” 

“Oh, yes he does.” one of the meaner looking thugs drawled “If you don’t give our employer the deeds to your inheritance, he dies. If you say you’ll give our employer to the deeds to your inheritance and then fail to deliver, the boss will tell the world about your affliction and he” the thug kicked Steve in the shin “will be sentenced to death. If you give the boss the deeds to your inheritance tomorrow morning, then you will be free to live your perverted, useless lives.” 

Steve forced his heartbeat to slow, determined not to let his fear show through, or to let his anger cloud his judgement. As much as he would have liked to kick his captor in certain sensitive areas, there were two of them and a lot of angry, muscular men with firearms who would likely take offence. 

“Who is your ‘employer’?” Bucky asked. He was once again pale, staring at Steve in desperation. Steve tried to appear reassuring, but that was a difficult feat when he had an arm across his throat and the muzzle of a gun on his skull. 

“Mr Pierce.” 

“Bastard!” Steve swore. The thug tightened his arm considerably, causing Steve to choke and gasp as black clouded the edges of his vision. 

“Stop!” Bucky all but begged “I swear I would do as you say if I could, but I simply cannot. There are no deeds to my inheritance, it’s written in my father’s will and I am not privy to exactly where that is, but I do know that it’s stored in one of the most secure of London vaults.” 

“Liar.” the head thug dismissed him “Where are the deeds?” 

From his peripheral vision, Steve saw his captor lay a finger on the trigger. 

“I’m not lying,” Bucky snarled “I will swear on a Bible if you wish it. Unhand him!” 

“Kill him.” the head thug commanded dispassionately. 

“No!” Bucky screamed “I’ll do it, I’ll do it! I’ll do anything, please!” 

The head thug regarded Bucky the way one might regard a lump of manure, but signalled his fellows to release Steve. Between one breath and the next, the gang melted in to the shadows and were gone. 

Steve slumped to his knees, gulping the cold night air. Bucky was opposite Steve in a second, wrapping his arms around Steve, supporting him, clinging to him, running his hands through Steve’s hair as he cried in to Steve’s shoulder. Steve clung in return, shaking, not entirely sure that what transpired wasn’t simply an elaborate nightmare. 

“I’ve been on battlefields, but none of them were that terrifying. I haven’t a clue why I’m so affected.” 

“Because it was fucking petrifying.” Bucky replied, muffled by the fabric of Steve’s overcoat. 

“Bucky!” he gasped. 

Bucky griped Steve tighter; he could feel tremors running through Bucky’s body. 

“The love of my life was just held at gunpoint Steve, I think in the circumstances my language is excusable.” 

Steve froze “The what?” 

Cautiously, Bucky withdrew from Steve’s shoulder to look him in the eyes. When Steve met his gaze, his breath caught. Bucky’s beloved blues held nothing but the deepest sincerity and most heartfelt affection. 

“You’re the love of my life, Steve. The light of my life. I don’t think living would be the same without you.” 

Now Steve was crying, fat joyful tears “You’re the love of my life, too, Bucky. I think I love you more than I could ever love any woman or any other man. More than life.” 

“Steve!” Bucky cried in exultation, and when he kissed Steve it was like every inch of his body and soul was tuned to sing and leap in proximity to Bucky’s. Bucky’s hands in Steve’s hair were tenderly insistent, his own around Bucky’s arms a thank you for staying and a plea not to leave. As Bucky’s lips worked against his, Steve was lost in a tide of sensation and he hoped to high heaven that Bucky was experiencing the kiss like he was. A chorus of angels wouldn’t sound as sweet as the noise Bucky made when Steve nibbled on his lip. 

All too soon, Bucky pulled away to rest his forehead against Steve’s. Their hearts settled as one in to a contented rhythm, until Bucky shot back with a horrified gasp. 

“You must leave. You must.” he insisted, eyes wide with fear and pleading.

“Pardon?” Steve whispered, feeling as if he got dragged around an emotional race track by an overexcited horse “Were we not kissing moments ago?” 

“We were,” Bucky assured him firmly, taking Steve’s hands in his “And I adore you. Which is why you must leave before Mr Pierce realises that he will never have those title deeds and tells everyone about us. If you’re not there, they can’t question you. I’ll tell them I was forcing you to act as if you were in love with me because” his voice hitched; Steve watched in horror “Because I am a sickening, perverted person. And they’ll send me to an asylum, or, or kill me or whatever they do to people like us.” Bucky was crying once more, tears streaming freely down his determined, desolate face “But it’ll be worth it, worth everything, because you’ll be safe. They won’t hurt you.” 

Ashen faced himself, Steve encircled Bucky in his arms, peppering kisses all over his face. 

“I won’t let them hurt you.” Bucky sobbed, clinging to Steve as a drowning man clings to a log. 

Steve felt his heart swell, even as a cold pit of dread settled in his stomach. Here was Bucky, kneeling in slowly permeating mud, offering to sacrifice his honour and safety to protect Steve because Bucky thought he was worth it. 

“Bucky,” Steve half-sobbed “You chivalrous idiot, I am not going to leave you. Especially after those words.” 

“But-”

“I am not going to leave you.” Steve repeated, stroking Bucky’s hair. They had abandoned formality long ago, after all “I will never leave you when you might need me, you have my word.” 

“Steve, please-” 

“Hush now, darling. I am never going to leave you, for as long as I live.” Bucky produced a small distressed noise; Steve shushed him again “Thus, we are going to return to Brooklyn House, answer your loving and concerned family’s anxious questions, then go to bed.” Steve waited for Bucky to nod, reluctantly, before he continued. 

“After that, when Pierce appears in the morning, we will tackle him together. Though perhaps not literally.” A small huff. Steve gently tilted Bucky’s head up so that they were eye to eye “And if the result of that is our destruction, then we will be destroyed together. And if the result is that one or both of us is banished, then we will find each other again. I swear it.”

At the conclusion of Steve’s speech, Bucky had stopped crying but his eyes were welling up with emotion. He coughed, took Steve’s head in to his hands and asked “Is this truly what you want?” 

“Yes.” Steve responded simply. 

Bucky exhaled, blinked rapidly, then abruptly stood. Offering Steve a hand up he said, as if in challenge “If anyone tries to shoot you, I will dismember them.” 

“The feeling is mutual. I hope your driver isn’t dead.” 

***

The driver wasn’t dead. After being revived, he was more than willing to drive swiftly back to Brooklyn House. As they disembarked, Bucky sent the lad on his way with a bonus and the promise of an extra week’s holiday. 

The house was silent as they entered, servants and household alike fast asleep. No questions to answer. In the darkness, the corridors seemed cavernous, the walls leering at them as they passed by. Whether it was a product of the night’s shocks or anxiety for the morning, there was something unsettling in the air that made Steve extremely grateful when Bucky invited him in to his room. 

“The servants have been told not to enter in the morning, and even if they do it isn’t as if it will make a difference.” 

The pair pulled off their clothes with a bone-deep weariness, Steve too exhausted even to appreciate the sight of Bucky shirtless before he covered up with his nightclothes. As soon as they climbed in to bed, Steve curled up to Bucky’s side, head resting on his chest and an arm thrown across his waist. Bucky reciprocated by tangling their legs together, curling an arm over Steve’s back to rest his hand on the back of Steve’s head. Moment’s later, they were asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I haven't, at the time of writing, ever actually kissed anyone in a romantic context so if the kiss bit seems like the most generic fanfic kiss description ever that's because it is) (also there are surprisingly few hostage situations in Austen novels so I kind of dropped more in to my normal fanfic style for that bit)


	4. An Interesting Solution

Bucky was the first to awaken. For one blissful moment, he revelled in the sight of Steve curled up next to him, the slowly rising sun setting his golden hair aflame and illuminating the smooth planes of his face. Then, the reality of the day came crashing down. Bucky griped the bedclothes, a sudden surge of despairing frustration making him desire nothing more than to rip them apart. To remove himself from temptation, Bucky began to dress. 

It wasn’t fair, he thought as he tied up his drawers with agitated fingers, it wasn’t fair at all. Why should he be ostracised for loving Steve when men who married unwilling women twice their age were considered respectable? Steve was the most compassionate, upstanding person Bucky had the honour of being associated with, and yet Steve would still face society’s scorn and persecution. 

Bucky hadn’t realised that he’d been wringing his shirt angrily until Steve’s soft, sleepy voice filtered across the room “Remember what I said, Bucky. It’ll be alright.” 

Nodding, Bucky donned his shirt and crossed the room to give Steve one last, precious kiss “I love you.” 

“And I love you, too.” 

Steve reciprocated the kiss, hovering in anticipation an inch from Bucky’s face when their lips parted. Reluctantly, Bucky stepped back. As much as he adored seeing Steve sleepy and affectionate, they needed to face their fate. 

A quarter of an hour later, they stepped in to the breakfast room together. Bucky’s mother- his heart stuttered in guilt at the pain he’d cause her - greeted them with a polite smile, Becca with a nod, Natalia with a knowing look that Bucky tried his best to avoid, and Bucky’s father...

“Oh, Captain Rogers. What a pleasant surprise,” Lord Barnes sounded anything but pleased “I thought yesterday you went home.” 

“I made an attempt to, Lord Barnes, but I am afraid it was a failure.” Steve replied courteously as he sat down. 

“Pray, how does one fail to go home?” 

Bucky decided that buttered rolls would have to wait “Our carriage was stopped by a gang demanding the deeds to my inheritance. They would not have it that such deeds did not exist, so the situation became quite perilous. Fortunately, we succeeded in calming them and went our way. Of course by that time it was far too late to proceed all the way to Steven’s home, so I invited him to rest here.” 

“How awful!” Bucky’s mother exclaimed, halfway to leaping up before her husband caught her arm. 

“How thrilling!” Becca countered, leaning forwards excitedly “Were you scared?” 

“Of course he wasn’t!” Lord Barnes cut in “It was a minor inconvenience, that’s all.” 

“They held Steven at gunpoint!” Bucky protested

“Did they really? What kind of gun?” Natalia enquired. 

Steve was just about to reply when a knock sounded on the door. Bucky froze, caught like a rabbit in headlamps. The door swung open, revealing none other than-

“There’s a Lady Carter here, sir, says she’s looking for a Captain Rogers.” 

Lord Barnes set down his knife with a clang “Let her in, why not? Invite the whole village while we’re at it.” 

“George. We like visitors.” Lady Barnes chastised him. Bucky stifled a snort- if there was one thing on which his parents would never agree, it was the subject of visitors. 

“Sorry to intrude.” Margaret apologised as she swept in “I was hoping to surprise Steven at his home, but upon arriving I found his housekeeper in a state of mild distress, having heard rumours of a carriage being attacked late at night on the estate road.” 

“Rumours.” Lord Barnes muttered in disgust. 

Ignoring him, Lady Barnes gestured for Margaret to join them “You are very welcome, my dear. We were just hearing about how James and Captain Rogers were threatened last night- perhaps causing the rumours you mentioned?” 

“I should think so,” Margaret agreed, looking to Steve directly “If you were threatened by a band of armed thugs.” 

“Yes, we were...” 

James was only listening inattentively to Steve’s explanation, half of his attention devoted to memorising the gently undulating landscape visible through the window. In some ways, it was a comfort to know that even if he was betrayed by his closest friends and family, his home county would always remain. 

“Are you thinking morbid thoughts?” Rebecca asked. 

“Whether I am or not is none of your business.” Bucky snapped back, falling in to the easy banter that he had exchanged with his sister since childhood (much to their father’s horror and their mother’s amusement). 

Perhaps Bucky settled too comfortably in to the rhythm, as he didn’t notice that the door had opened once more until his father was saying with false cheer “Mr Pierce, how good to see you.” 

Bucky’s heart stopped. A plethora of denials rushed through his head: it couldn’t be, it wasn’t yet eleven o’clock, it couldn’t be, even f he’d had the papers he wouldn’t have been able to find them yet, it couldn’t be. Not yet. Not now. Not so soon. 

But, alas, when Bucky turned to the door it was to be faced with none other than the smiling, crusted face of Mr Alexander Pierce. 

The bastard spoke “It is a pleasure to be here. Or rather, it would be my pleasure had I not to deliver some unfortunate news. You see, Lord Barnes, I pride myself on an intricate knowledge of the place of my residence, and it is through these channels that I have uncovered an ugly secret, a mockery of all that is good, festering like rot in this house in an attempt to bring it crashing down.” 

Bucky could feel himself paling, hoped pointlessly that the others attributed it to the tension Mr Pierce was trying to create with his florid words. Indeed, he held the ears of all assembled in rapt attention. Even Bucky, detestably, found himself lured in to Mr Pierce’s spiel. 

“You see, sir, these two men,” Mr Pierce pointed to Steve and Bucky in turn “Have been partaking in a hideous love affair.” 

Absolute silence, filled only by the rushing in Bucky’s head. For a moment, the world hung in suspension, split between two landings each as perilous as the next. Then, Margaret laughed. 

“Sir, I believe you are mistaken.” she said, shaking her head in amusement “They cannot be partaking in a love affair, for Captain Rogers and I are engaged to be married!” 

Glancing to Steve, Bucky saw that he was just as shocked as the rest of them. Then, Steve regained his composure.

“My dear,” he smiled “I was not expecting you to tell our friends today.” 

“Why, darling,” she responded “What better time? All of us are together and I simply cannot have anyone spreading misinformation about you when there is such joyous news they could be discussing instead.”

“Madam are you quite sure this...man has been entirely true to his word?” 

Mr Pierce’s face was blotching angrily with red as he spoke, contempt dripping from every syllable. Bucky wanted to run him through with a sword. Considering the steel in Margaret’s voice as she spoke, she seemed to think similarly. 

“I can assure you, my husband to be is quite honourable. Or do you wish to read our private correspondence?” 

Mr Pierce spluttered incoherently, then wheeled on Bucky “What about him? He has no alibi.” 

Bucky lifted his chin, meeting Mr Pierce’s hysterics with as much dignified contempt as he could muster. 

Natalia let out a lengthy sigh “Mr Pierce, you do seem intent on the ruination of all surprises. I suppose I must take it upon myself to admit that James and I, too, are engaged.” 

“Why, James!” Lady Barnes cried “Whenever were you going to tell us?”

“Tomorrow, of course.” James responded vaguely. After that he rather lost track of proceedings- his mother’s joyous exclamations, his father’s yelling as he bid Mr Pierce leave, never to return (‘spreading hideous rumours...damage our reputation...in front of ladies...’). It all seemed rather surreal. One moment, he was preparing for his seemingly inevitable foul end, the next he was engaged to a countess. 

Natalia caught his eye, nodding subtly to the door. Bucky inclined his head in recognition, suggesting that the five of them take leave in order to allow his parents to gather their thoughts. The idea was met with marked enthusiasm. In testament to quite how shaken Bucky was by the ordeal, he didn’t notice that he’d lead his friends to the walled garden in which it all began until Steve said so. The ladies squeezed on to one bench without complaint, while Bucky and Steve seated themselves on another. In the silence that followed, Steve’s cold hand settled on Bucky’s knee. 

Steven was the first to speak “Margaret, I cannot thank you enough for your intervention. I believe I can say with all honestly that you saved our lives, if not from an immediate execution then from a slow death due to depravity.” Bucky nodded his agreement, still numbed by the rush of relief after such an all consuming dread “Although I cannot help but wonder how you propose to perpetuate the ruse.” 

“Well,” said Margaret dryly “One does tend to marry after an engagement.” 

Steve’s mouth overcame his manners and dropped open in shock. Bucky’s remained shut only due to years of childhood cultivation. 

“You mean to say that you were in earnest?” Steve asked in incredulous hope; Bucky squeezed the hand resting on his knee “You would marry me to absolve us from suspicion?” 

All three of the ladies exchanged a look which Bucky, having been associated with Becca since birth, knew to mean that they had been conspiring. 

“Not only to absolve you of suspicion, but for my own means;” Margaret amended “If I am married then the pressures on me to find a husband will naturally cease, no man will be able to take my estate from me and I will be allowed to spend the rest of my days in the company of a dear friend such as yourself without raising suspicion.” 

She nodded to Natalia. 

Taking an obvious cue, Natalia added “By marrying you, Bucky, I will not only be eternally in the favour of an influential family by allowing you to marry above your station, but I will have a reasonable excuse to extract myself from relations with many of my enemies in Russia, and furthermore conceal my own preferences.” 

Bucky grinned, anticipation thrumming through his body. He would marry Natalia, and all the lawyers or the clergy couldn’t separate him from Steve if they tried. Steve, too, was visibly excited by the prospect. He surged to his feet, darting around the fountain to kiss the hands of Margaret and Natalia in turn. Watching him, Bucky couldn’t help but be consumed by an overwhelming fondness, a warmth that banished the winter chill and spread right down to his bones.

“I have but two questions.” he asked “What shall we do when the time for producing heirs arrives? I, for one, am not disposed to the idea of that degree of intimacy with a friend. And, Natalia, need we be concerned about these enemies in Russia?” 

“Wise concerns, but unnecessary..” Natalia responded “For I am barren and my enemies in Russia will be very much satisfied by my absence.” 

“Margaret?” 

Steve seemed concerned by what she may say. Before Bucky could rise to comfort him, Becca placed a light hand on his shoulder. 

“I will do whatever you find most appealing, Steven. You are an attractive and courteous man, so I would not loathe to consummate our marriage traditionally if you wished to. However, motherhood has never been my sole aspiration in life and I may soon assume guardianship of a young cousin of mine who will be befitting of the station of heir.” 

Steven flushed handsomely, a relieved smile curling across his lips “I would be much satisfied to remain entirely chaste, if that is what you wish.” 

Becca squealed childishly in joy, then rushed across the garden to pull Bucky in to an impromptu dance. Laughingly, the others began to clap a rhythm. Before he knew it, Steve was being thrust in to Bucky’s arms. If Bucky could stop time and preserve the giddy happiness Steve was effusing in that moment, the happiness Bucky resolved to make it his life’s mission to give Steve a million times over, he would. As it was Bucky remained sorely lacking in powers of universal alteration, so instead he took Steve’s face in to his hands and kissed him until he was breathless. 

“Steven Grant Rogers, will you do me the pleasure of becoming my husband?” he asked. 

Steve gasped, giggled “Bucky, darling, you can’t do that!” 

“But do it I did!” Bucky countered triumphantly, cheeks aching with how much he smiled “Will you?”

Steve looped his arms around the back of Bucky’s neck, kissing him once again “Of course I will. Again and again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the next chapter will be an epilogue, then we'll be done! (In case there's any confusion, when Nat says she's 'barren' it's what we would call 'infertile', not that she is a Baron and I've missed half a sentence or something)


	5. Epilouge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't exactly how I planned to end the story, but I feel like it fits in a way. Thank you for reading this, especially so if you left kudos because it's great to know that people have enjoyed it!

Joyce smiled politely as the first tour of the day assembled in the entrance hall, pleased to see the clear interest on all their faces. Well, almost all. There was always going to be one grumpy child or grudgingly obliging partner who Joyce would have to work hard to engage. If she said so herself, she had a fairly good track record of succeeding. Once the initial chatter had subsided, Joyce cleared her throat and began her welcoming spiel. 

“Hello! My name is Joyce and I’ll be showing you around Petersburg Lodge today. Following years of restorative work after the structure fell in to disrepair and months of preparing for the public, the Lodge was opened early last March. As such, it is one of our newest acquisitions. Although the Lodge was owned by the Barnes family up until 2008, you’re seeing it now the way it was when it was first built.” 

Joyce paused, allowing the group to digest the information. Pointing over their heads, she then gestured to two massive portraits hanging over the front doors; a man and a woman, both dressed regally and put to canvas in loving detail. 

“Here you see the original owners- Lord Barnes and Countess Romanova. Lord Barnes was, as you may already know, one of the early pioneers of hydraulics. You’ll see various examples of his work along the tour, as his ambition was to fully mechanise his home.” a few impressed noises “Countess Romanova, on the other hand, is famed for being one of the first female explorers, and a prolific one at that, owing to her easy grasp of languages and fearless nature. When she wasn’t abroad, the Countess could be found in the Petersburg Lodge receiving rooms- nicknamed the Red Rooms due to the bold colour scheme- hosting some legendary dinner parties.” 

Joyce smiled as her audience tittered. It was nice to put some theatrics in to her job. 

“You’ll notice that, unlike the serious nature of most portraits of the time, both subjects appear to have been caught mid-laugh. That may be because the painter of the portraits- known most widely as humanitarian and master of the arts S G Rogers- was a close personal friend and confidant of both Lord Barnes and Countess Romanova. In fact, S G Rogers and his wife Lady Carter were both so close to the owners of Petersburg Lodge that they had their own permanent suite to accommodate them on their many visits. In the past, historians have attributed this mostly to the brotherly bond between Lord Barnes and S G Rogers. However, recent evidence has caused us to reassess our view of some of the most influential figures in society of that time. If you’ll just step this way.” 

Using what Joyce called her ‘visitor pace’, she led the group through to an antechamber in which a small exhibit had been established. As the tour situated themselves in the confined area, Joyce took her cards out of the handily sized pocket in her jeans. Gesturing to the softly illuminated glass case on her left, Joyce explained “These documents were discovered during an initial survey of the property in 2014, which is a mandatory requirement before the trust commits to ownership.” 

The latter was not a necessary detail, but one Joyce liked to include anyway. 

“After the timely deaths of both Lord Barnes and S G Rogers, Lady Carter left care of her own property to her young ward Sharon and moved in to Petersburg Lodge to keep Countess Romanova company. Now, this is where we get some scandal.” a few of the listeners shifted closer, eager. It was why Joyce liked her job, despite how repetitive it was; she could bring the past to life as clearly as any soap opera “It’s well known that upon her arrival at Petersburg Lodge Lady Carter remarked, when asked about the death of her husband, ‘it is better that they died as harmoniously as they lived than for one or the other to limp on alone’.” 

“Cute.” muttered one twenty something. The woman holding her hand gave her a sharp dig in the ribs. 

Joyce gave them a knowing look “Of course, in the conservative atmosphere of the time- and unfortunately up until very recently- the widely accepted reasoning behind this remark was that Barnes and Rogers were very close friends, and those who suggested that their ‘harmony’ was anything but platonic have long been scorned. It seems Lady Carter realised this. During the survey, the team stumbled on a rusted mechanism that had had a pillar built around it when parts of the house were remodelled in the early twentieth century. Cleaning the mechanism revealed that it was still, miraculously, in working order. When activated, it revealed a hidden corridor that had been left out of the Lodge’s original blueprints. Curious, the surveyors ventured in to the corridor and soon noticed a patch of brickwork that was unlike the others. Thinking that it might conceal further mechanisms, the surveyors later returned with a builder and permission to investigate. What they found wasn’t pistons and pulleys, but a metal box containing the documents you see here.” 

“Previously, historians had been baffled at the lack of preserved letters between Lord Barnes and S G Rogers. If they were so close, why do we have no evidence of them talking? The answer is that the evidence was concealed, along with a few telling pages of Lady Carter’s own diary. From these documents, we build up a picture of a forbidden love affair.” Joyce glanced down at her cards “First and foremost, Barnes and Rogers regularly refer to each other as ‘my darling’ or ‘my dearly betrothed’. Their letters are intimate and longing. While Barnes frequently included both quotes from love poems and dirty jokes in his letters, Rogers often attached sketches- both flattering and coarse.” Joyce smiled at her audience “If any of you have long distance relationships, this will all sound familiar.” 

“But, what is perhaps most amazing to us in our limited view of the past, is that it seems both Lady Carter and Countess Romanova fully condoned the marriage. In her diary, Lady Carter explains ‘I feel that my suggestion was met well both by Natalia and Becca’ (referring to Countess Romanova and the young Lady Proctor) ‘and they have been of a great help in refining the details- marriage acts so often as a chain in this age that I can hardly contain myself at the prospect of using it to make us free’.” 

Joyce smiled at the myriad of impressed looks adorning the visitor’s faces. 

“However, it seems Barnes and Rogers did not entirely escape the prejudice of the time. According to Lady Carter’s diary, she was forced to make her suggestion of marriage prematurely in order to nullify the suspicions one of Lord Barnes Senior’s associates held- suspicions that lead to Rogers and Barnes being threatened with death. The bright side of the situation, apparently, was that Barnes’ ‘admirable conduct in the face of such dangers’ and ‘most determined efforts to remove Steve from the path of harm’ permanently endeared Lady Carter to her husband’s lover. One other incident was recorded many years later during one of the Countess’ dinners. It is said that the scene was the inspiration for one of S G Rogers’ most esteemed works, and a dramatisation is this way.” 

Joyce lead the tour on. After the video came the Red Rooms in all their gilded grandeur, panels hand painted by S G Rogers himself. Then, they advanced to the master bedrooms where Joyce took great joy in pointing out the obscure ornaments collected by Countess Romanova on her travels, juxtaposed by the domestic knick-knacks given Barnes by Rogers over the years. Between the cosy library and the Rogers/Carter guest suite nestled Rogers’ Petersburg Lodge studio. Compared to the Red Rooms it was utilitarian, but it was one of Joyce’s favourite rooms to guide. She could just imagine Rogers painting on his easel as light streamed in through the bay windows, Barnes perched on the window seat chatting merrily as the sun traced shadows across the mint green walls. 

The last destination of the tour was the servant’s quarters. Unlike the rudimentary accommodations many rich persons provided for their servants in the past, Barnes’ provisions were comfortable and aesthetically pleasing. It wasn’t known who exactly had painted the floral patterns on the corridor walls and the ferns on the doors, but the prevailing theory was that they, too, were Rogers’ works. It must have been nice, Joyce supposed, for Barnes to have Rogers as a presence in his life through art when he couldn’t always have him in person. 

Soon, the tour emerged in to the kitchen garden. Joyce answered the usual questions- were Lady Carter and Countess Romanova involved? Were Barnes’ parents and Sharon Carter in the know?- with the usual answer: they had no idea. Breathing in the scents of thyme and rosemary as she watched the tour dispersed, Joyce thought to herself that their not knowing was alright. After all, it wasn’t as if they could ask Barnes and Rogers’ permission to pry, or enquire after Carter and Romanova. In the end, Joyce thought, being welcomed in to their home was enough. 

Somewhere not quite there, four figures watched Joyce retreat to the break room and smiled.


End file.
